Cogitations
by SadeLyrate
Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas, thoughts, emotions hard to relay via that media...Rated T for occasional language, deeds and thoughts of deeds. Oneshots.
1. 101: Pilot

Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...  
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. **Spoilers** about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.  
Disclaimer: The only thing concerning the Winchesterverse that I own is a bad, mad crush.

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**COGITATIONS  
101: Pilot**  
_by Sade Lyrate_

He saw them get back. Sam had hardly changed. Except for the hot nurse he held hands with. Their steps were light, lively, the brief kiss gentle before they disappeared through the front door, laughing. He watched as the apartment lit up, their silhouettes in the windows.

His fingers tapped to the rhythm of _Enter Sandman_ nervously, forgotten.

Sam had looked happy.

And he remembered the last time he'd talked with the younger man, two years or so ago. And he wasn't sure he was doing the right thing now.

_"Just leave me alone."_

And he had. After all the phone calls that went unanswered...he had. Sure, he'd seen Sam, once in a while, from a distance. Shadows, him and Dad, shut off from Sam's dream.

_"It's not my problem anymore."_

Two years, and Sam had still been playing that old record. His voice had been steadier, stronger, lacking the rage Dean remembered from that final showdown with their father. Would he have learned any new words afterwards?

The house went dark. The night eased the neighbourhood into silence and sleep, or at least something as close to that as possible. He waited still, thinking, wanting to make sure he wouldn't at least barge in on Sam's life while he was being...treated.

He wasn't sure this was the right decision, but...

Last time he'd seen their father, they'd exchanged normal goodbyes, see-you-soons, good-lucks. A quick, easy gig in New Orleans; Dad in Jericho. Check up on Sam again in a couple of whiles.

And ever since he'd received that voicemail from the elder man, he'd been driving from New Orleans to Stanford, something cold wrapped tightly around his heart.

_"We're all in danger"?_

They were always in danger. Nothing new with that. Every hunt bore its risks, every instance between they were attuned to the going-ons of paranormal kind.  
'Danger' was their life.

But this time... He had had the distinct feeling that Dad didn't mean just the two of them, those who helped them, the other hunters. This time there was heaviness to the voice he'd learnt to obey that made him press the pedal in a mad need to see Sam. He wanted his family together again, standing beside him.  
Together they could beat whatever shit got thrown their way, they'd be safe. And then everything would return to the way it was before...before everything fell apart.

Find Sam. Find Dad. Face the evil son-of-a-bitch.  
Sounded like a rather good plan.

So he let the Impala roll closer, killing the quiet music with the engine. Then he reached for his bag in the backseat, fingers closing around a small, black package. Casting a final glance at his target apartment, he slid out of the car.

The gate presented no difficulties. The stairs were equally silent, the door to Sam's apartment hardly indistinguishable from the rest.  
Flexing his fingers, he tested the door. Final chance to turn tail, leave Sam without a fight to cling to his dream.  
He hesitated, lockpicks in hand.

Final chance to leave, let Sam face all the dangers alone, unwarned?

Flawlessly, the lock clicked, the door cracked open.  
Cautiously, he ventured into the dark, silent apartment, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness in the apartment as he took a step. And toppled something over.

_Shit._

_Well, if that didn't wake up Sam..._

The room around him was filled with stuff. Furniture, books, just...stuff. No wonder something had tumbled down. Carefully he made his way into another room. Still nothing. Except more stuff. And not even the kitchen. Continuing mapping out the place, the glass door obeyed noiselessly his touch.

Someone grabbed his shoulder. 


	2. 102: Wendigo

Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...  
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. **Spoilers** about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.  
Disclaimer: Nothing within the Winchesterverse is mine.

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**COGITATIONS  
102: Wendigo**  
_by Sade Lyrate_

The sun rose. He hardly noticed.  
After the Wendigo had gotten Roy, things had been quiet. They'd stayed still, the Collins-siblings huddled together by the small fire, Dean keeping an eye on the forest around them. Sam on the emptiness, the thoughts within.

More than a week, and he felt numb. Some emotions flickered occasionally in the edges, but inside, he was empty and just numb. Guilty.

But...he couldn't bear to think for others to suffer as he did, not if he could help prevent it.

Idle, his fingers found the rosary trapped in the spine of the journal. Unbidden, familiar words from childhood, teens, drifted through his mind. _Pater noster, qui es in caelis._ Long digits caressed a decade worth of beads. _Sanctificetur nomen tuum._ The recitating voice in his head was calm and collected and even. _Adveniat regnum tuum._ Everything he wasn't. _Fiat voluntas tua, Sicut in caelo et in terra._ His heart hardly in it, he couldn't even figure out who he'd be praying for. _Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie._ For them to flee the forest alive? _Et dimitte nobis debita nostra._ For Jessica? _Sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris._ For Dad? _Et ne nos inducas in tentationem._ Maybe for all of them? _Sed libera nos a malo._ Maybe for none? _Amen._

Maybe it didn't matter.


	3. 103: Dead in the Water

Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...  
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. **Spoilers** about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.  
Disclaimer: The Winchesterverse is completely the property of Mr Kripke and his companions.

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**COGITATIONS  
103: Dead in the Water**  
_by Sade Lyrate_

His recollections are hazy, granted.  
But some things survive.

Mom. Light and love, butterfly sense memories of rhyme, warmth, safety mixing with stories their Dad told, photographs painting out details of her figure from the cotton ball sensations of a child.

The fear and the fire. Heat and profound sense of loss far beyond any rational ability or possibility. The flurry of lights and sounds, half-sleep softening the impressions into dull ache.

The horror of waking up alone, the instant of pure terror when he thought the fire had taken everything, everyone from him. The breath in which his fears were condensed, strangling all sound, until the world bled back, and he saw Sammy in his crib, the safe, strong figure of his father nearby. Present, but absent. There, but gone. Not like before.

The wrongness of words, how certain he was that saying anything outloud would bring the bad things back, take Sammy and Dad from him, like they'd taken Mom. How being quiet, silently turn inside, let things 'outside' simply happen, seemed like the best choice in a world that had suddenly grown much darker and colder.

To think Lucas is trapped by similar terrors... He doesn't like to reflect on that. Whatever haunts the kid, he will do anything to banish it. He couldn't help himself. Not back then.  
He can help Lucas now.


	4. 104: Phantom Traveler

Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...  
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. **Spoilers** about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.  
Disclaimer: If I owned the loveliness of the Winchesterverse, I'd be a much more troubled woman.

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**COGITATIONS  
104: Phantom Traveler**  
_by Sade Lyrate_

The darkness outside troubled him thousandfold less than the one inside. The things that went bump in the night...those he knew how to deal with, had known as long as he could remember. But the things inside...?

He turned his attention back to the television, eyes briefly passing over Dean's sleeping form. He knew he should try and sleep, too, but...  
Sighing, he reached to turn the distraction off. At least one of them needed to get some rest. And the less there was disturbance, the better.

As quietly as he could, Sam rose up, shaking his head. Everytime he closed his eyes, the recollections rushed in with revenge. Jessica, first and foremost, vivid enough to veer him far from sleep. But there were others, his own fears mixing with memories. Not just from the last few months, but from over four years back, and farther. It all had begun bleeding back. Ever since Jess.

He had had over three years without most of the crap of the lifestyle he had left behind. Almost. He had managed to fool himself. He had thought he could live without a weapon at arm's reach at all times, without salt anywhere but the shaker in the kitchen, without monsters and bogeymen but in the horror movies.  
He had thought he could leave it all, just like that.

He should have known it would all just come back with a vengeance.

These things always did.

Thoughts his only company now, he snatched his jacket, left the room as stealthily as possible.

A walk might be a good idea. He would give Dean an hour or two, enough for the sun to rise, before heading back with coffee and something to eat. They wouldn't stick around for long anyway. They never did.


	5. 105: Bloody Mary

Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...  
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. **Spoilers** about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.  
Disclaimer: No sacrifice will wrench the Winchesterverse from its rightful owners and into my arms.

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**COGITATIONS  
105: Bloody Mary**  
_by Sade Lyrate_

_Note: It's quite likely that I'll replace this one with a, hopefully,_ better _snippet in the future._

There's no more the drowned out sound of shattering glass.  
The cops are circling him.  
His heart feels heavy, refusing to accept his head's reassurances of Sam knowing what he's doing.

Something's wrong.

_Fuck._

"You know, I just-" He needs to get back to Sam. "I really don't have time for this right now."

Fears he refuses to acknowledge back up his punches, hasten his fists, urge him to just get the hell back inside. Swift and silent, the cops go down.  
Sparing them a glance to make sure they are truly out, Dean turns on his heels, trying to quieten the clamour in his head.

_Sam's alright. Mary couldn't touch him. She didn't come, and Sam just smashed up the mirrors out of anger. Even if she did appear, Sam'd get her before she could touch him._

Inside the shop, silence still reigns. His brother doesn't approach him, smiling, 'I told you so' in his eyes. No. But there are gasps, strangled, silent, pained. Reaching with ice-cold fingers right from where Dean left the younger man.

Half-running, he grabs his crowbar where he stashed it, rushes around a corner to see Sam broken, hurt, huddled on the floor in front of the massive mirror.

_Too late, too slow, too damn stupid!_

All his frustrations and fears, and silver shards rain upon them both, pool with their numerous kin on the floor.

And Sam...?


	6. 106: Skin

Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...  
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. **Spoilers** about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.  
Disclaimer: Being a woman, I don't really pass that well as Mr. Kripke, creator of the Winchesterverse, do I?

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**COGITATIONS  
106: Skin**  
_by Sade Lyrate_

Half an hour later, and Sam was gently sleeping on the passenger seat, Eric Bloom quietly crooning in the stereo. The bruises around Sam's right eye looked sore, but he hadn't complained. Washing away all that blood had definitely improved his looks.

Absentmindedly, Dean picked up his cellphone.  
He was officially dead. The police had made sure of that. How many times would people who knew Dean Winchester do a double take at the news? And how long could he keep that up?

Hesitantly, he dialled a number, kept his eyes on the road as he raised the phone to his ear.

The familiar voice, rhythm even, rolled off the recording as easily as always before, words he knew by heart as unhelpful as ever.

"...Dad?" He began after the beep, glancing to see Sam still soundly asleep. "I don't know how much you follow news or obits from St. Louis, but...just thought to let you know that the handsome devil in the coffin ain't me." He swallowed, smirking, eyes returning to the road. "It's...Sam and I ran into a shapeshifter, and it got the drop on us. Sam's a bit bruised, but otherwise we're just fine."

He wanted to talk with his father, wanted to hear his voice, be assured that they were all okay.  
Beside him, Sam shifted in his sleep, long neck bare. Slight red welts, like tiger's stripes, ringed his throat in the form of man's fingers. For a moment, the elder man could only stare at them.

"It... It was going around killing people, got Sam's college buddy into trouble, so we decided to check it out. And then it stole my face, and...well, was still wearing it when I hit its heart with silver bullets. Just like you taught us." He cleared his throat, forcing eyes back to the blacktop. "That's about it, then. I just thought...I'd let you know we're okay. So...drop us a note once in a while? You know, just...let us know you're alive."

He closed the phone, dropped it back into his pocket, glanced at the younger hunter, bit back the thoughts stalking his skull.

He'd gotten there in time.

_This time._


	7. 107: Hook Man

Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...  
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. **Spoilers** about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.  
Disclaimer: All things Winchesterverse-y...not mine. Never will be. Never have been.

Thank You all for the reviews:)

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**COGITATIONS  
107: Hook Man**  
_by Sade Lyrate _

_Note: This one, too, has for certain 'Needs inspiration'-sign nailed to it._

"We could stay."

He knows Dean means well. Knows with crystal clarity that if he'd nod, admit his preference to run that way, Dean would stuff everything _he_ wants to let Sam live in an illusion of normality, happy with a girl and college.

He knows with equal certainty that that is not going to happen. He cannot rest as long as Jessica's killer is on the loose. Cannot forget her.

He had a girl and college, and he was happy.

_"...like I'm cursed or something..."_

He lost it all because his fucked up past caught up with him. It was a dream, and just as fragile as any butterfly. Without his dream, he fears that now he's but a shadow of that 'college boy', an empty shell of anger and numbness, and it's safest for everyone to stay at an arm's length.

They always leave, anyway.  
They do what they need to, keep quiet about it and ride off into the horizon, never looking back.

Salt and burn.


	8. 108: Bugs

Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...  
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. **Spoilers** about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.  
Disclaimer: Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of nice men, be they CW's or be they Kripke's, mine they'll never be.

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**COGITATIONS  
108: Bugs**  
_by Sade Lyrate_

Seeing the Pikes, Larry and Matt together like that, father and son, smiling at each other, apparently happy...  
To him, it felt like a slap in the face. As if Life was holding a big neon sign with "Look carefully. This is what you'll never have." written on it with big, unfriendly letters.

They helped people, even with things that had not a whiff of paranormal about them, but when it came to themselves... Heck, they didn't even have a clue where their father _might_ possibly be. And even if they did, what would it matter?  
Over four years, and the reasons why he had left Dean and Dad were still fresh in his mind. Even without being reminded, the recollections of myriad confrontations, orders, disputes, misunderstandings, challenges were still close to the surface of his psyche.

On the other hand, though, seeing Larry and Matt also gave him hope. Maybe the relationship he and his father shared could be mended, too.  
If they ever did find Dad, he could...try and fix everything. Take back words he was too incensed to swallow back then. Forgive and be forgiven mistakes by both, face to face. Maybe then...maybe then John would smile at him like that, too. Look at him without contempt, without mockery, talk to him like he was a son instead of a soldier.

He could dream.

It all still smarted, just like it had in the years preceding his departure. Now, though, it was tempered by some objectivity brought forth by years, shared loss of a loved one, Dean's words...above all the silence revealing nothing of John Winchester's wellbeing or whereabouts.

He wanted a family. He wanted his family, together.


	9. 109: Home

Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...  
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. **Spoilers** about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.  
Disclaimer: I don't own any kind of a Winchester. Or any other gun for that matter, either.

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**COGITATIONS  
109: Home**  
_by Sade Lyrate_

_I'm sorry..._

"For what?" You almost whisper, your too old eyes wet with tears, your head too full of things I cannot help with, troubles I cannot soothe.

_...for leaving you.  
...for not coming when you called and cried for Mom.  
...for forcing you to grow up too fast.  
...for your shattered dreams.  
...for your 'gifts'.  
...for Jessica.   
...for...  
...for everything._

And for leaving you again.


	10. 110: Asylum

Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...  
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. **Spoilers** about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.  
Disclaimer: It's been a very, _very_ good decision to let Mr Kripke have Winchesterverse instead of me...

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**COGITATIONS  
110: Asylum**  
_by Sade Lyrate_

She ran.

She didn't know, didn't _care_ where just as long as it was away.

Gavin hadn't answered her calls. She could feel someone, some_thing_ watching her, and all she could think was her need to get the fuck out of this place, as far as fast as possible.

They both knew the stories.

_Who didn't?_

And, honestly, she'd thought Gavin'd take her to someplace nice and 'normal', not creepy and cold. Okay, ghost-spotting sounded fun, sort of. In the daylight, with friends. During night, in a freaky place, not so much. And she had her limits.

Leaving her in an old, haunted asylum's corridor, alone, was definitely off-limits.

She'd been unsettled ever since they snuck into the place. Then, as the door had closed after the boy, she had felt the creepiness of the place starting to crawl up from the floor to smother her.

She'd decided she would be brave. She wouldn't become the blonde whose only job was to be pretty and die within the first five minutes, screaming her heart out.

That was before she'd caught glimpse of a man with half his face gone.


	11. 111: Scarecrow

Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...  
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. **Spoilers** about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.  
Disclaimer: The sex-change operation and the paperwork to change my name to be Eric Kripke are still deeds not done. Thus, I still can't rightfully lay any sort of claim on the lovely boys!boys!boys! and all the other fun stuff of Winchesterverse.

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**COGITATIONS  
111: Scarecrow**  
_by Sade Lyrate_

Dean doesn't pick up when Sam first tries to call him back, in the early hours of afternoon. He shrugs it off as the elder man being busy, tries to ignore the nagging feeling at the back of his head.

A while later, the lanky man presses 'Dial' again and waits. The phone rings and he waits. As only Dean's voicemail answers, he hangs up and tries to think it's nothing and waits. The nagging's getting worse.

The next time he calls his brother Sam is still met with naught but his brother's recorded voice. He cuts the connection, gnawing at his lower lip like the nagging's at his stomach.

It's been three hours of trying to reach him, and the nagging's nothing short of a monster with a mawfull of needle-sharp teeth. The only thing he can think of now is that Dean needs him. Something's gone awfully wrong, Dean's in trouble and it's all because Sam was stupid and incensed enough to leave him.

The more he thinks about it, the more he manages to assure himself of it. He needs to get to Burkitsville. If he'd continue to California, Dad might've left by the time Sam arrived anyway, and he'd be completely alone again. If something's happened to Dean...

He doesn't want to face John alone. Doesn't know if he could if...   
He has to get to Burkitsville.  
Now.


	12. 112: Faith

Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...  
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. **Spoilers** about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.  
Disclaimer: Sticks and stones may break my bones, but Winchesterverse belongs to Eric Kripke & co.

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**COGITATIONS  
112: Faith**  
_by Sade Lyrate_

_So, this is it. _

_No fanfares, no heroics, no skies rent apart. Not on a battlefield, in a lover's embrace, crushed with the car..._

Dean Winchester was going to die on a hospital bed, in the middle of humming machines, of an electrocuted heart.

_A stupid, freaky accident. Easily avoidable, if only..._

He wanted to be angry. Hell, he _should_ be angry. But...

_Pointless. Waste of energy._

His mistake, his fault. No one to blame but himself.

He never thought he'd be happy to see Sam leave.

_Not going there now. Mulled over it long enough, long ago._

Heavy, his eyes closed.

_It was over, all of it. Not like this gig came with long life expectancy anyway, but... _

_No way to fight against something like this.  
No guns could heal a heart, no knives fix the damage, no amount of holy water wash the fried system clean, no amount of rock salt repel death._

He had played the cards dealt and, for once, someone else had had a better poker face.


	13. 113: Route 666

Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...  
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. **Spoilers** about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.  
Disclaimer: The Winchesters and their pretty little world is not mine to torture, tumble or toy with. But I do so anyway. Without getting paid, and with full respect to Mr Kripke and all the other lovely people behind Supernatural.

Thank You for all the nice words! Pretty phrases keep writers going:)

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**COGITATIONS  
113: Route 666**  
_by Sade Lyrate _

_(Note: I was feeling sorry for the boys for all the crap they go through in the canon and in the fanfics I've lately read, and I wanted some fluff, so...) _

The night eased over Cape Girardeau.  
Sam glanced at his cellphone, quiet on the table next to the laptop. He stretched, eyes touching the other bed in the room.  
It was getting late, and Dean hadn't gotten back.

_Any other job, any other day..._

Sam rubbed a hand over his face, smiling.

_Any other day, and I'd be scouring the lands by now. _

_But now..._

He couldn't help but smile. And hope his hunch was right, and Dean wouldn't stagger back in drunk or hungover, quite probably bruised to boot. Sluggish, he laid out on a bed, mind wandering, sight turned inwards, sleep stalking in the shadows.

He liked Cassie. Sure, he didn't know much about her, but...the way she glimpsed Dean, the way Dean glanced at her...  
There was something so familiar in those one-sided looks it almost hurt. Something about the sparkles he could practically see between the two that made him, for once, remember Jessica without immeaditely being smothered by the smoke and the flames. Remember the good times, the good things.

The way light made her hair shine, her eyes glitter.  
The way she pressed against him in her sleep.  
The way she grounded him into reality.  
The way her touch warmed him even if her fingers were near frozen.

The way she used to wake him up on weekends, kissing, drowsy fingers flitting over his skin, tracing unintelligible swirls and curls and patterns. Alive, well, beautiful.

_She'd keep at it until he wakes up, opens his eyes or grabs her, returning the kisses with everything he has._  
Those were the times he now missed the most, the instances of calm he was afraid he'd never experience again. Times when it was just the two of them, when the world seemed perfect and happy and safe...and it was so easy to forget the Winchester-world of darkness.

_They'd linger in the bed, sleepslow and dreamwarm, thoughts torpid, touching, feeling, kisses idle, caresses long and languid, inching towards full wakefulness sweetly slow._  
Half the time they'd doze off instead, entangled, together, only to wake up well into the afternoon.

_She feels soft against him, skin smooth, scarless, flesh warm and alive and just so...right...  
Under his fingers, so familiar with weapons' hard surfaces, her flesh is supple, sweat salted, her sighs sweet.  
Over him, sun glancing her hair, turning it into a halo, her hands on his chest strong, smile straying from saint's to shark's.  
Around him, legs trapping his waist, arms on his back, drawing him deeper and deeper into an embrace he never wants to leave. _

_Her lips, skimming over his skin, nipping, nibbling over sensitive spots, her breath turning into chuckling and laughter as he gasps or twitches. Her hands, eager in their exploration, as enflamed as his own, curling and crawling, teasing and tangling. _

_Shared breaths, bodies entwined, sensations shifting until it's hard to tell where one ends and another begins. Sleep left far behind in favour of reality filled with gentle touches and heated emotions, sentience admitting only to the pleasure of now._

He woke up, gasping, familiar ache grasping his heart, another sort, painful now, struggling lower. He tried to ignore both, loss as sharp as it had been over half a year ago, curling up on his side, feeling the all too common burn behind his eyelids, strangling him.

_Oh, God...  
I miss you, Jess._

He shifted, fingers grasping the covers, and could almost feel the featherlight kiss, the shadowsoft whisper.

_I know._


	14. 114: Nightmare

Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...  
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. **Spoilers** about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.  
Disclaimer: My godmother's not powerful enough to even wrench Ackles into my possession, not to mention the whole damn Winchesterverse.  
So I'm still just borrowing Kripke & co.'s concepts.

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**COGITATIONS  
114: Nightmare**  
_by Sade Lyrate_

The woman was stunned, leaning heavily on him as they scrambled up the stairs, leaving Sam alone with the little psychopath.  
The dark eyes met Dean's last look solemn, assuring. He just wished his younger brother's skills in Psych 101 were as good as his trust in them.

The gun in Max's hand was trembling as he followed their ascent with eyes like a wild animal's, at his wits' end, trapped, freaked. Sam should've been easily able to wrestle the gun from the kid, but he wouldn't, Dean knew that. Sam was brought up just as much a soldier as his brother, but he would never break a promise. Even to a nutjob like Max.

_Just as well.  
The kid might pull some more tricks out of his sleeve if provoked._

And now Sam was alone with him. The fact that Dean had been forced to do so didn't lessen the discomfort in his gut. Grim, he turned his attention to the cut on Alice's temple.

The walk up had shaken the woman further into consciousness, but she remained quiet as he wet a napkin and began cleaning up the wound. He couldn't hear what was going on downstairs.

_No crashing, no shots. That should be a good thing, right?_

"You...you're not priests, are you?" She asked, voice quivering.

"No", he answered, berating himself for bringing the gun. But what was he supposed to do?

_Listen to Sammy. _

_Hell, the kid was smart. He figured out the trick with the ghosties at that asylum, knew their old house wasn't safe... And was a general pain in the ass all around. _

_Next time Sam has something to say..._

"What's happening now?" Alice asked, eyes rising to face his, uncertain, scared.

"Sam's going Dr. Feelgood on Max." But with every breath that passed, his trust in his brother's abilities waned.

They fell silent, waiting.

Sam was alone with a psycho who had already killed two men in cold blood. Sam was alone with a boy who was responsible for the murders he'd been forced to watch. And Dean couldn't help him. Not with Max. Not with the visions. Not with the nightmares.

The door opened, their eyes darting to see Max approaching.   
Without Sam.

_Where's Sam?_

The boy entered the room, as mentally unstable as before. Dean could taste the threat in the air. Behind the boy, the door closed.

_Where's_ Sam

_He wouldn't have let Max off the hook, not until he'd gotten the kid's head straightened. Not if-  
No._

Sam would've put up a fight. There would've been noise.

_Not if the kid got the drop on him._

He heard Alice cry the moment invisible hands threw him into a wall.

_Sam failed.  
Fine.  
Let's do this Dean's way, then._


	15. 115: The Benders

Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...  
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. **Spoilers** about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.  
Disclaimer: With my skills as lacking as they are, 'tis a very, very good thing better writers get paid for Supernatural. I just use Winchesterverse to vent a whim or several.

* * *

**COGITATIONS  
115: The Benders**  
_by Sade Lyrate_

He watches the man take a gun, the old man talking to his heart's content, the girl quiet and compliant and just plain fucked up. It takes a moment for the words to sink in through the barrier of pain, but when they do, he can feel his heart grow colder than ever while his skin still burns.

This whole damn thing's gone wrong from the beginning.

He waits, along with the rest of the sick fucks, heart rate picking up, racing with his thoughts, stopping when the gunshot rings out, and there's nothing but silence.

"You hurt my brother, I'll kill you, I swear." The old man hardly spares him a glance as he gets up. "I'll kill you all! I will kill you all!"

Moments follow each other like pearls in a string,

But there's no answer. No second shot.

And Dean realizes.

_Sam made it._

Sam had to make it.

_He's better than all of these yahoos put together, smarter than that cop._

The old man seems to feel how wrong his plan's gone, too. The men leave, guns ready, the girl and the knife and the bound man alone in the house filled with death.

The ropes are too tight, the knots too well-made, his thoughts too erratic for him to squirm loose. Even if his shoulder didn't send out new flames every time the muscles moved, pulled, even if his head wasn't still ringing from the blow that took him out.

She watches, quiet, amusement dancing in her eyes as he still struggles to break free.

They wait, and there's silence.

_Sam must've gotten the cop out, too. Otherwise the bastards would've shot already. And now they're running._

God, he hopes they're running.

Long enough, and he almost begins to trust that hope. He'll get out of this. He's been in worse. He just wishes Sam's smart enough to keep himself alive. Sam's a hunter, too, after all. And he knows, Dean thinks Sam must have figured out what these stupid sons-of-bitches are doing. No way could they manage to get Sam, cut him up and quarter him like all the others. Not if he has a chance.

Three shots ring out, too close for comfort, and his fears kill his hopes. Not long after, and there's more, until even the echoes of the sixth die.

Then there's only silence and he hates it.

Missy circles him, eyes as small and sharp as the knife she trails just above his skin. Mischief glints cruelly in both, mocks all the ways he's failed.

There's nothing outside. No steps, no words, no shots, no sounds of strife or success of anykind.

The girl glances at the door, her attention returning quickly. She kneels down in front of him, raises the blade, begins twirling its sharp point on the fabric covering his thigh.

His head drops, eyes closed, trying to ignore her, trying to keep himself calm, trying to think through the throbbing. He can't move. Not much, anyway. Dad taught him better than this. Much better.

The steel digs through the denim, pricks his skin.

Suddenly, the sensation vanishes and there's a flurry of sound, Dean's head snapping back up. Sam's holding the girl, her face twisted in anger, hissing and spitting like a cat as she struggles to free her arms, tightly held behind her back. The tall man glances up, hazel meets green momentarily. Without a word, face hard, he picks up the girl, shoves her into a closet, blocks the door. She struggles and screams, banging on the door, calling for her father.

"You cool?" Sam asks as he unties the ropes on Dean's arms.

"Yeah. What about the rest of 'em?" Dean answers as he snatches his hands free, grimacing at the pain in his shoulder, and attacks the rope on his legs.

"In the cages. Kathleen's watching the last one. Any more of them?"

"Don't think so."

As soon as he's free, they storm out, single shot akin to a siren's song.


	16. 116: Shadow

Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...  
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. **Spoilers** about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.  
Disclaimer: All I have is one lovely little rosary. And even it isn't John's. Or the boys'. Damn.

* * *

**COGITATIONS  
116: Shadow**  
_by Sade Lyrate_

_Oh, that_ hurt. _Didn't know Sammy could be that devious..._

She opened her eyes, stared at the window seven stories above her. _Those damn Winchesters..._

She had heard they were good.

_Well...if that's true, then the game's going to get interesting._

She got up to her feet, zipped up her jacket. Her fingers found the amulet, caressing its curves as she began to murmur the incantation under her breath.

Quick, sure steps led her away from the warehouse, through the streets.  
The sign of Danny's Inn loomed above her as she finished the incantation without a smile.

_And they said Johnny-boy wouldn't walk into a trap...?_


	17. 117: Hell House

Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...  
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. **Spoilers** about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.  
Disclaimer: All of the Winchester-y goodiness belongs to Eric Kripke/WB/CW/who-the-heck-ever-they-are. Not me.

* * *

**COGITATIONS  
117: Hell House**  
_by Sade Lyrate_

Sam had fallen asleep almost the moment the engine's roar had calmed to steady rumble.  
_Old habits_, Dean mused, failing to see the adult beside him, memories of far earlier times skulking around his skull. No matter what, the purr of the Impala, the thrum of the road fleeing below the wheels unhindered had always lulled the younger of the brothers.

The snippets of shuteye Sam had for nights probably helped, too. Whenever he fell back deeper, skittish slumber straying to simulacrum of serenity...nightmares snapped at the heels of restful sleep. Enough, and it all boiled down to one specific moment of terror, wrenching his little brother from dreams, the rest of the night spent trying to stay awake, usually researching their next job.  
Though, Dean had to admit, those nights were becoming, gradually, farther and farther apart. He hoped that was the case, instead of Sam learning to move around without waking him up. A feat in and out of itself.

Neither of them was exactly a heavy sleeper. He wasn't sure how much of it was genetics and how much upbringing. Not that it hardly even mattered. Briefly he wondered how peaceful Sam's sleep had been during the years at Stanford, the time with Jessica. The weekend every day closer to a year ago, and all the shit afterwards, his rest had been usually far from pleasant...not that Dean could blame Sam.

At first, he'd tried to understand, to guess at how hard it must have been, seeing someone you love slashed and bursting into flames. Seeing Sam's eyes afterwards, though, dead eyes, so like their father's when Dean was a kid... He had decided to stay away, leave those thoughts alone. If it ever came to that for him, he would deal with the pain then. Before that, he could only try and help Sam with his.

_But would it take as long as it had for Dad...?_

If it would, then hell, he was in.  
Making most of the time, and having fun while at it. And if at all possible, drag his brother along for the ride. Doom and gloom really shouldn't be the sole content of anyone's life...


	18. 118: Something Wicked

Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...  
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. **Spoilers** about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.  
Disclaimer: It's the fans' job to put the object of our idolatry through hell and back (occasionally literally), but that doesn't mean we get to own anything of Winchesterverse.

* * *

**COGITATIONS  
118: Something Wicked**  
_by Sade Lyrate_

Something changes, and it's almost palpable the moment Dean sees the rotten handprint. The lines of his face harden, his eyes darken, shutting Sam off.

There is fear in the air, and the jokes turn to sarcasm and silence.

He cannot remember Fort Douglas, Wisconsin. He remembers the hum of the engine, snuggly fitted into the car, safe and warm and with Dean. He remembers the streetlamps as they flicker by in the night. The mornings, the evenings, the days on the road. The interchangeable motel interiors, drabness. Pastor Jim and Latin. But not Fort Douglas, not by name, not within that timeframe.

There is a flutter, a shadow, something intangible just beyond recollection. A ghost of a dream of a memory. Enough to unsettle.   
Just like Dean's seeming, words, are enough to spook him. _Mighty John Winchester losing his prey?_

And he thought that was the worst of it.

That night, they sneak into the hospital, their plan flawed, agreed, but Dean is so tense they need to do something. It's a small surprise the whole deal doesn't blow up in their face. And that Dean walks out without the crone's blood on his hands.

He walks out more uptight, though.

Their way back to the motel is jokes and lures, deflected by the stone wall his brother's erected.

The moment they see the boy, forlorn, his own laughter curls up and hides, his unease grows.

The light dies in Dean's eyes, his toleration zero. Teetering on the edge, as haunted as anyone they've ever helped. _Just like Dad..._

When they get together again, it's all getting onto his nerves, too, and he snaps at Dean who quietly, uncertainly, catches the moths of memory, pins them with needle-like words.

That night, he pins the shtriga with consecrated iron rounds, vivifying its victims.


	19. 119: Provenance

Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...  
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. **Spoilers** about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.  
Disclaimer: Hickory, dickory, dock, The Winchesterverse's not mine to knock.

* * *

**COGITATIONS  
119: Provenance**  
_by Sade Lyrate_

The nightclub they hit isn't really that different from all its friends down the street, and they hardly pay attention to its name as they amble in.

Sam because he'd rather sit in a library anyway.  
Dean because he's after what it holds.

Beer and beautiful women. And all he really wants is release.   
Respite from revenants and ghoulies and all the other wonderful freaks of nature.

And, honestly, break would hardly be a bad idea for Sam.

Dean glances surreptitiously at his brother, hunched over their father's journal, apparently completely oblivious to everything around himself, the noise, the lights, the crowd. Dean.

After Jessica, he didn't really press the issue. Not as long as the hazel eyes of his brother met his as dead as their Dad's had been. But when Sam still shied, ever so subtly, away from touch, especially women's, after the worst of it had passed...?

Heck, he doesn't think the taller man has even glanced at a woman in a good while. Sure, there was Meg, but...that whole deal kind of blew up in their faces. In so many ways.

Of all the things he's dreamed for his little brother, or had nightmares about what Life holds in store for Sammy, hermit's path isn't really something he's thought about. Or a monk's. Sam, though...

If the other man's willing to deny his flesh, fine. But Dean sure as hell would do his damnedest to drag him out of his little cave and into life.  
After all, it's not like the hunters are supposed to sleep on a bed of bones.


	20. 120: Dead Man's Blood

Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...  
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. **Spoilers** about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.  
Disclaimer: No matter how much I love the Winchesterverse, apparently no amount of it is enough to see my name on the papers of ownership of Supernatural and everything related to it...

* * *

**COGITATIONS  
120: Dead Man's Blood**  
_by Sade Lyrate_

He leaves. Hesitant, uncertainty stretching in his heart.

But he's been given an order, they're on a timetable and he doesn't want to aggravate the eldest of them. So with a careful glance at Sam, he leaves them, both, at the door of their motel room.

The way to the funeral home is filled with silent wishes and quiet pleas clamouring for attention in his mind.

Stepping out of the car, he ushers them away, dons a persona that doesn't have a powder keg for a father and a match for a brother.

Getting inside...not really a problem. His charm still works, his lies still ring true. Trying to get rid of all the would-be chaperones, though, sends his sweet-talk sparring with a wall of rules and standards and required forms. He takes his time, and finally they relent.

After that, it's cakewalk. Find a jar of blood bled from a corpse and smuggle it out without getting caught. On his best days, he could easily walk out of a military base with a tank in tow, and no one would look at him twice.  
Granted, this isn't one of those days, but on the other hand, a little inconspicuous jar is a whole lot easier than a tank.

He bites his lip as a clock called a heart tells him how little effort it takes to light a match.

On the way back to the Impala, his worries catch up to him as his facade's cast away, needless now. It's way too easy to remember that one incident nearly five years ago. Just as easy as the one over five hours ago.

He tries to assure himself that him going was the right thing to do as he guides the Impala out of the parking lot. Two would have had more trouble getting in, and neither Sam nor their father would have necessarily been able to pull it all off. All the thoughts that drift through his mind are tainted by the flutter of fear. Angry at himself, he tries to shrug it off.

Patting the jar in its paper wrapping in his coat pocket, Dean curves to park the car in front of their motel room, eyes intent upon the single window. Light's against him, though, and all the comfort he can find is the fact that the place's still up, their father's truck still parked in the same spot.

There's an idea that maybe he should let the two fight, get it out of their systems.

In that case, what would be the worst case scenario?

He doesn't want to think about it. Hasn't before. No reason to start now.  
After all, their father has never crossed that line with them. Not with Sam. He remembers the threat being there, whispering in the depths of John's dark eyes, but he never acted upon it, never let it surface. Never took that last step over the invisible boundary.  
He sparred with them, trained with them, showed them moves. Grabbed Sam by his shirt that last day. Last night. But he never struck out at them in anger. Not sober. Not with fists.

But Sam is no longer a boy. No longer a kid. He is a grown-up, and taller than their father. As much a hunter as their Dad or Dean. Capable and willing to take care of himself, his years at Stanford just letting a little rust touch the edges.  
Unfortunately, the blaze he'd left with that one day hadn't died out. The embers are still hot, ready to spring to life at the smallest slight.

Dad couldn't be blind to that. Couldn't let Sam goad him into a fight when there were things more deserving of punishment.


	21. 121: Salvation

Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...  
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. **Spoilers** about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.  
Disclaimer: No Winchesterverse-y things were stolen for the making of this ficlet.   
Pretty Thank You for pretty words:)

* * *

**COGITATIONS  
121: Salvation**  
_by Sade Lyrate_

"Yeah?"

"...Dean? Come pick me up?"

"What's wrong?"

_Damn._

"Just...come pick me up, okay? I'm at the corner of Grace Avenue and Lee Hill Drive. Call Dad to meet us back at the motel?"

"Sam, what's wrong? You okay?"

"..."

"Sammy?"

"...yeah. I'm fine."

_ click _

He leaned back against a tree, closing his eyes. Knowing Dean would drop whatever he was doing, barrel through the city. Especially since he hadn't been able to keep the damned weariness out of his unsteady voice.  
The after images were turning his head into his heart, sore as if he really had burnt.

It hadn't been that bad, not this time. But the sheer brutality of the vision...wonder he hadn't drawn attention to himself. At least they knew where the Demon would hit that night.

Saving Rosie and her family...

_Yeah...that's worth the killer headaches.  
Especially if killing the Demon ends them forever afterwards..._


	22. 122: Devil's Trap

Summary: A collection of snippets, depicting possible scenes either never taking place in front of a camera, or ideas/thoughts/emotions hard to relay via that media...  
Warning: The tense may vary from piece to piece, as will the length and POV. **Spoilers** about for each and every episode so far released in the USA.  
Disclaimer:Dear Kripke, who art with CW/ Hallowed be thy name./ Thy series come/ Thy will be done/ in Europe as it is in USA./ Give us this week our weekly ep./ And forgive us our fantasies/ as we forgive those who own the Supernatural./ And lead us not into misery/ But deliver us from Mary Sues.

* * *

**COGITATIONS  
122: Devil's Trap**  
_by Sade Lyrate_

So pride become her downfall.

But what could she possibly expect after Johnny-boy turned up with a generic gun and thought he'd get rid of them with some holy water?

His boys certainly didn't really impress her back in Chicago. They fled her, sure. Point for them for that. But beaten, tails between their legs, broken, driven to lick their wounds. Hardly anything she couldn't deal with whenever she so choose. But Father ordered her to back down, lie low, find the friends of Dear Ol' John.

All the things she had heard about the Winchesters... teaches her to listen to the petty imps.

And like an ancilla tiefling, she steps right into the seal, trapped before she knows it, bound and tied.

_All the more the fool._

As if they could keep her here forever.

They wouldn't. Their precious humanity, even dearer conscience would keep them from killing the poor girl. And die she would, if she left it. She knows, they know.

_Check._

However, as Dean turns to her again, there is murder in his eyes, his rage turning those shaded green eyes into gateways of hell.

_...as if he'd even glimpsed the real thing..._

So he bellows and huffs and puffs.

It's the quieter, even words of Sam that threaten her home, though.  
The easy flow of Latin reveals her abode of bricks and stone to be one of grass of leaves.

She trashes around, reaches out to tear the tongue from the boy's mouth, pluck those lovely mossy marbles from the the other like no little piglet ever could.  
The invisible walls stop her, and she spits and hisses and tries to shred everything around her into beautiful bloody strips no hunter would ever even dare approach.

All is for naught, and the eyes, dark enough to belie possession, mock her, condemn her with fury worthy of the Inquisition.

The body is broken, the last words sever her already frayed bond with it, and Hell welcomes her back with open arms.

* * *

I decided to break these snippets into seasons. So this marks the end of the updates to this collection. There'll be some 'cleaning' up and similar, but otherwise, this one's finished.

My deepest Thank Yous go to all those who have revieved, especially to **wild wolf free17** and **Ghostwriter**, who have had a couple of nice words to say on each installation.

The cogitations for Season 2 will begin after a pause.

Thank You for reading.


End file.
